


got a sweet tooth for your love

by problematic_pleasures



Series: give you honey [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Age Difference, D/s undertones, Dysfunctional Relationship, First Time, M/M, Sexual Slow Burn, Sugar Daddy Fred, handjobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-10-31 13:23:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10900236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematic_pleasures/pseuds/problematic_pleasures
Summary: Fred takes care of Jughead because he feels bad for the kid.Jughead shows him how much he appreciates the kindness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for [this riverdale kink meme prompt]()!! i'd been wanting to write fred/jug as it is, and this was such a great prompt. 
> 
> for right now i'm going to post this as 4 chapters, because they contain the bulk of the plot/fit the prompt. i've got a couple additional fics i'll add on later as i finish them, so you'll want to subscribe to this series. i just really wanted to get this posted, rather than keep op waiting!
> 
> anyway, head the tags above, and if this isn't your taste then please don't read! 
> 
> for those who're sticking around, i hope you enjoy!!

It’s a foreign feeling. It’s something Jughead hasn’t felt in… years, probably.

He’s not saying his dad is a bad parent, but. He kind of is. His dad has always tried over the years to be supportive, and interested, and whatever—but his dad always failed. Parent-teacher conferences were a laughable idea at best, and even when his dad _did_ show up he was nearly pass-out drunk. There has always been another shoe waiting to drop; the low after the high; the disappointment after the amazement.

With Fred, there’s none of that.

Fred is genuine. He tries, so hard. He tries even though Jughead isn’t even actually his kid. He looks at Jughead’s accomplishments and his praise is genuine. He ruffles Jughead’s hat-hair and the touch is sweet instead of drunkenly fumbling. He hugs Jughead and it’s warm instead of stifling. Refreshing instead of stale.

When Fred offers to buy dinner, he really means it. Dinner means a meal that keeps Jughead full for as long as any teenage boy can stay full. It’s not ramen cups and suspect tap water, or bread and crackers, or nothing at all whenever his dad would forget. When Fred cooks dinner, even if it’s not Food Network-worthy, it’s better than anything FP would try to whip up while drunk.

  


  


  


When Fred offers to take Jughead school clothes shopping (belated, given it’s October now) Jughead says no at first. He says no because he knows the Andrews aren’t loaded and he’s already been a burden for far longer than he ever wanted to be. He says no because he can’t bear for this to be the moment that tips the scales—for the kindness to run out and he’s let down again, as always.

  


  


  


Eventually, Fred takes him shopping anyway.

It’s a short conversation, one that warms Jughead to his core.

 

_“Just one shirt, Jug, c’mon. Let me do this for you.”_

_“Mr. Andrews, really—?”_

_“One shirt. That’s all I wanna get you. Any one you want. Okay?”_

_“… Alright.”_

_  
_

_  
_

_  
_

They’re walking into the mall when Fred speaks up.

“I don’t want to bully you into this, Jug. I just want to do something nice for you, you know that, right?”

Jughead doesn’t look over. “I know, and I appreciate it.” He shoves his hands in his jean pockets and walks a few steps ahead. “I just feel like I’m bleeding you out of house and home. You don’t have to… do so much for me.”

Fred stretches his strides and soon falls in step with Jughead. “Hey, hey,” he grabs Jughead by the shoulder when the teen won’t stop. “You know you’re not a burden to me, don’t you? You’re Archie’s best friend. You’re family, Jughead.” He squeezes Jughead’s shoulder and smiles. “I’m treatin’ you the same way I treat Archie. Because I want to.”

Jughead’s cheeks burn and he looks away. He mumbles out a thanks and stays stock still until Fred lets his hand drop. “Do you wanna come with, or should I just text you when I’m ready to check out?”

“Whatever you want.” Fred shrugs easily.

Jughead nods along. “I’ll text you in a bit.”

Fred gives a mock salute and a grin before turning on his heel.

Jughead’s mind is swimming as he wanders into the nearest store that catches his eye. Hands deep in his pockets he tries to focus on finding a shirt but can’t help the guilt that pulls at him. He can’t let go of the burning need to do something in return, the sensation of proving that he’s worth all this trouble.

In the end, he circles through the store three times before the employees start to give him weird looks. He takes that as a queue to leave, and the first thing he sees is Fred sitting in the food court. He knows he could pretend not to see him and go about his shopping.

He walks up to Fred slowly.

“Hey, Jug, nothing jump out at you yet?” Fred asks with a grin. He’s got a bag from the sports store in the mall, no doubt something for Archie.

“No, not yet.”

“Need some help? I may not be as hip as I was but I can do my best.”

Jughead huffs a laugh and shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

Fred stands and gestures for Jughead to lead the way.

They pass a couple empty storefronts before they reach American Eagle. Jughead tilts his head to get a glimpse inside. He pauses long enough for Fred to look at him curiously; feeling caught, Jughead walks inside.

“Didn’t take you for an American Eagle boy,” Fred comments as they walk.

“Not usually, but they have nice jeans.” Jughead’s neck is burning as he looks around.

“You need some new jeans?” Fred asks so quick, so eager, Jughead wonders if his head is spinning.

“No, no, I’m fine.” Jughead looks at the jeans briefly and startles when a hand lands on his shoulder again.

“If you need some, it’s fine. You know that, Jug.”

Jughead gulps. His mouth is so dry. “Okay,” he rasps. “One pair, though. I don’t need a lot of stuff.”

“One pair of jeans and a shirt, I promise,” Fred says with a smile. He even raises his hand like he’s taking an oath. “If that’s what you want.” He tacks it on at the end and Jughead wants to feel indignant, pandered to. He just feels cared for.

He finally takes his hands out of his pockets and starts to pick things out. “You can go look around, I’m gonna need to try things on.”

Fred shrugs this time. “I’m a dad, Jughead. I do know how clothes shopping works. I don’t mind hanging around.”

Jughead nods, curt. He turns all his attention to picking out clothes—not too many, just a couple things in different sizes and maybe more than a couple shirts.

“Need any help carryin’ those?”

Jughead blinks and realizes his arms are fuller than he meant for them to get. He nods, sheepish, a look that Fred waves off good-naturedly. He spreads his arms and Jughead passes the clothes along.

“I’m gonna get you a room, okay?” Fred’s gone before Jughead can reply. Jughead spares a thought to wondering if Fred is this doting with Archie, if Archie _lets_ him be this overbearing. It’s nice, a tiny voice in the back of his head insists. So different, so good, so easy.

“Hey,” Fred says as he steps up beside Jughead again. “Hope you don’t mind, I saw a couple things along the way and tossed them in there too.” Fred beams. “Don’t be afraid to say you hate them.”

Jughead laughs and shakes his head. Words stick in his throat so he just smiles and ducks his head. He picks out a few more things without really looking at them and then starts toward the dressing room. He gets a few feet closer before realizing Fred isn’t at his heels.

“You coming?” He asks, barely resisting the urge to cringe once the words leave his mouth.

Fred seems surprised, but doesn’t comment. His face softens and without replying or even acknowledging what Jughead said, he follows. Jughead still stays a few steps ahead, but he doesn’t slip into the dressing room until Fred is parked on one of the chairs outside.

When Jughead faces how many things he’s accumulated to try on, a wave of shame washes over him. He’s never had this before. Clothes shopping in the past has always been the bare minimum—meaning underwear, and little else, unless they were really desperate. This by comparison is downright extravagant.

Jughead swallows the panic and unease in his throat and reaches for the jeans first. He toes out of shoes and lets his own jeans drop to the ground. As he turns to grab a pair from the stack, neatly placed on the seat in the room, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

Seeing his pale, scrawny legs in the heavy and warm lighting reminds him that just outside the door, his best friend’s dad sits.

Another flush of shame blushes across his skin and he deliberately turns away from the mirror. He busies himself with the jeans, one pair after another.

A knock on the door startles him from his focus. “Y’alright in there, Jug? Need me to grab anything?”

“So far, so good.” He’s pants-less, Fred is on the other side of the door, and the niggling sense of guilt comes rushing back to him. “Thank you, though.”

“Course, Jug. Let me know if you need anything. I’m right out here.”

 _Didn’t need the reminder, thanks_. Jughead tilts his head toward the ceiling and sighs. He slips back into his own jeans (and god do they feel ratty and worn compared to new, crisp denim) and sets about rifling through the shirts. Way too many shirts, even though they’re clearly separated between what Jughead chose and the few things Fred chose to include.

He speeds through trying on the things he picked out, ends up liking only about a quarter of them. The rest he piles up on one end of the seat before setting his sights on Fred’s choices.

The first shirt he picks up is plaid flannel, which is so predictable it tears a laugh from Jughead’s tight throat. He slips it on over his t-shirt and finally looks himself over in the mirror for more than a few seconds.

It’s a deep purple with lines of white and blue. Not a color scheme he’d normally choose, and definitely nothing he’s seen Fred wear… it’s not bad, though.

He shrugs it off and sets it in the center of the seat—a maybe pile.

Slowly but surely he works his way through the shirts. Every so often he hears an employee come by and hears Fred assure them he’s fine, that Jughead doesn’t need to be bothered.

Eventually he comes across the end of the pile and a shirt that is just hilariously large. It’s a t-shirt with a Pink Floyd logo across the front and it hangs well past his hips. He looks at the door, and knows that Fred wouldn’t offended if he chose not to get it.

Except, it makes him think of Jellybean, and it makes his heart hurt.

For the first time in a while, he steps toward the door and pulls it open. “Hey, Fred?”

“Right here, Jug. What’s up?” Fred is, true to his word, immediately at the door. “Hey, nice!” Fred gestures to the logo with a broad grin.

“It’s too big,” Jughead explains; he steps back enough to show that it hangs off him. “Can you see if there’s a smaller size?” He feels small as he asks, but not weak. Pampered, maybe, but not childish.

“Sure, hang on.”

Jughead lets the door fall shut softly, not all the way. He listens to footsteps and tries to guess which ones are Fred’s

In the end, he doesn’t guess, because when Fred knocks on the door Jughead jumps in surprise.

“Hey, kiddo, they didn’t have any others. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. Thank you.” He listens to Fred walk away and presumably sit down again. Jughead looks himself over once more in the mirror, and figures it would make a good pajama shirt.

He works his way through the last couple shirts and is surprised when he doesn’t feel a churning obligation to like them all. Some are just not his style, and some very much are. It’s fun, and dizzying, the small things highlighting how much Fred really does know him.

He sorts one last time through the things he likes and tries to narrow his choices down as much as possible. He’s deliberating between two shirts when knuckles rap against the door again.

“Jug? Still good?”

“Uh, yeah.” Jughead looks between the shirts. “Just trying to do some last-minute whittling.”

Fred ‘ah’s quietly on the other side. “You can pick as much as you want, Jug. You know that.”

“You said one pair of jeans and one shirt,” Jughead reminds him. His tone verges on petulant, but teeters more on the side of pleading.

“You know as well as I do that I didn’t mean that.”

Jughead bites his lower lip, but before he can try to argue more Fred is continuing.

“How about this: pick whatever you want, as much as you want, s’all my treat.” Fred pauses. “But, you gotta cook dinner tonight.”

Despite trying to resist, Jughead grins. He lets Fred sweat for a moment, lets Fred think he’s going to put up more of a fight.

“Alright,” Jughead says back. “You got a deal, Andrews.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> really glad everyone is enjoying this so far! especially OP, since this is all for you! 
> 
> there's a bit of smut in this chapter, as well as more exploration of their relationship. the last two chapters focus heavily on fred and jug figuring out how to make their relationship work. 
> 
> comments are adored!

There’s enough bags that they fill up the small backseat of the truck, and shame tugs at Jughead like an insistent tide. He wants to feel bad, feel like a mooch, but he does really like the things they picked out and he _does_ really need new things.

Fred’s been grinning and humming the whole ride home, and it helps. Helps soothe the anxiety in Jughead’s chest.

“What do you want for dinner?” Jughead asks when they finally cross the bridge taking them back into Riverdale.

Fred stops humming. “I dunno, Jug. Why don’t you surprise us? Archie is gonna be home late, I guess practice is gonna be running late and he’s going to try and meet up with Ronnie later. Might end up bein’ you and me.”

“I’ll still make enough for him. He’s gonna be starving whenever he does get home.”

Fred laughs. “You say that like you aren’t lugging around a hollow leg.”

Jughead scoffs. He pulls out his phone and taps on a recipe app he’d downloaded shortly after moving into the Andrews house. He likes to cook, and never really got the chance back home, so he takes advantage of the larger kitchen often. Fred and Archie both are too happy to reap the benefits.

“Do we need to swing by the grocery store?” Fred asks, pulling Jughead from his thoughts.

Jughead mulls the question over. He flicks through a couple recipes and thinks back to what he last knew for certain was in the pantry. “Uh, yeah. If it’s not a pain.”

“Not at all, Jug.” Fred takes a left instead of going straight at the next stop sign. “What’re you thinking?”

“Thought you said I should surprise you.”

Fred raises his hands briefly from the wheel in a display of surrender. Jughead can’t tear his eyes away from the grin on his face, framed by his beard.

 

 

 

Once the food is inside, Fred stops Jughead from going back out to the truck. “You go ahead and get started on cooking, I’ll grab the stuff from the mall.”

“You don’t—?” Jughead’s protest stops in his throat when Fred ignores him. He watches as Fred hurries along to get the bags of clothes and the couple other things they picked up as they left the mall. Before Fred can catch him staring, Jughead heads back to the kitchen.

He busies himself with getting dinner ready and putting away what he doesn’t need right now. He listens, absently, as Fred takes the bags upstairs, as Fred lets Vegas out to the backyard. He loses himself in the noises of the house and the rhythm of starting to prep the food and doesn’t realize Fred is standing in the doorway until he turns around and sees him there.

Jughead startles, not quite bad enough to drop the bowl of ingredients he’s carrying, but close.

Fred laughs. “Sorry, you were in the zone. Didn’t want to bug you.”

Jughead rolls his eyes and turns away. He tries to fall back into the same rhythm but can’t, knowing that Fred is only a few feet away.

“Need any help?” Fred asks as he’s suddenly at Jughead’s side.

Jughead shrugs. “Wash your hands first,” he says.

Fred does and once he’s done he holds his arms out. “How can I help?”

“You can start by boiling some water. Be sure to salt it.”

Fred nods and gets to it swiftly. Jughead gets a bowl of flower ready, as well as his salt, pepper, and other seasonings. All the while, he watches Fred out the corner of his eye.

“Water is boiling. Is it gonna be pasta tonight?”

Jughead nods. “And chicken picatta.”

Fred ‘ooh’s. “Sounds fancy,” he teases.

Jughead can’t help it. He sticks his tongue out and Fred laughs right back. It’s like a switch flips, and suddenly it’s easier. Jughead feels less like he’s wading through swampy unease and guilty and more like he’s on level ground. He feels more like he’s contributing, earning all the things Fred has done for him, rather than just taking and taking and taking.

After the pasta is cooked and drained, Fred lets Jughead shoo him to the side.

“Want me to put on some music or something?”

Jughead shrugs. “I’m fine. It’s going to be done pretty soon anyways.” He’s tossing the chicken into the pan, with lemon juice and capers and mushrooms. “Maybe open a window though? It’s kinda warm.”

Fred moves from where he’s leaning against the door and reaches over the sink to slide the window open. “Appreciate you doing this, Jug.”

Jughead shakes his head. “It’s only fair. You—thank you for today.”

“It’s nothing,” Fred replies flippantly.

Jughead makes sure the stovetop is on low heat before looking over at Fred. “It’s not nothing. You know my dad. You know it’s never been like this. This is… it means a lot.”

“I know, and that’s why it’s easy to do. It’s not a hardship for me to give you what you deserve, Jughead.” Fred, again, clasps Jughead on the shoulder. “Besides, Archie never lets me be as involved as you did today. It’s fun.”

Jughead knows the apples of his cheeks are warm. He can’t help but drink in the heat of Fred’s hand engulfing his shoulder. “It was fun,” he agrees quietly. He turns back to the pan to flip the chicken, pleased to see it browning nicely. “Can you grab the flour?”

Fred doesn’t reply, just lets his hand drop and moves toward the other end of the kitchen. Jughead can’t let go of the phantom sensation, the feeling of Fred’s hand on him.

When Fred comes back with the bag of flour in hand, he doesn’t step away this time. He leans against the counter and watches Jughead cook. They stand in silence, aside from the sizzling of the pan.

Jughead looks over and realizes that Fred hasn’t been staring at the food, but at him. He wants to blame the blush that floods his face on the heat coming from the pan, but it’s not.

“You want a beer, Jug? It’s not a school night.” Fred finally steps away from the counter toward the fridge. He steps around Jughead but still brushes against him, hand drifting across Jughead’s back. It’s almost a polite gesture, a non-verbal ‘excuse me,’ except Jughead could swear the touch lingers.

“Uh, sure, I guess.” Jughead answers belatedly. He puts all his attention into moving the chicken to another pan, and pouring the noodles in with the capers and mushrooms. “Are you sure?”

Fred bumps the fridge door shut with his hip, two beers in hand. “Why not?” Even so, he looks serious with a hint of concern.

Jughead opens his mouth but falls short on words.

“You don’t have to,” Fred is quick to reassure.

“It’s not that… just…” He pushes the noodles around in the pan as they soak up the sauce. “You’re so different from my dad, you know?” It feels a little weird to finally say it aloud. Especially to the man who’s his dad’s childhood best friend. “You know he’s not… like this. It’s an adjustment. I’m still adjusting.”

Fred sighs. “I know that’s who he is now, Jug. FP wasn’t always like that. I guess that’s maybe why I wanna help you out.” Fred shrugs then pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know FP could do better, and it pisses me off that he doesn’t. Pisses me off more that there’s not a thing I can do to make him be better.”

Jughead listens but doesn’t look at him. He puts the pasta in a bowl and reaches for the plate of chicken.

“So, I can at least do this. You deserve it, and I can give that to you.”

Jughead dishes up a plate for Fred and then one for himself. He finally lets himself look at Fred, even knowing he’s still red in the face.

A silence falls over them.

Jughead breaks it. “Wanna eat in the living room?”

Fred nods. He grabs the silverware and napkins, beers tucked under his arm and leads the way into the living room. Jughead sets the plates on the coffee table and sits, unsurprised when Fred sits closer than usual.

The tension from before has come back, not quite as strong but impossible to ignore. Jughead wonders if he’s projecting, if he’s overanalyzing things, making something out of nothing. They eat and watch tv, and Jughead sips at his beer slowly where Fred drinks half his probably far too fast.

Fred finishes first and sets his mostly empty plate aside; he relaxes back and rests an arm along the couch. Jughead forgets about it (in all honestly, he’s somewhat distracted by the dazedly pleased expression and the way Fred’s legs are splayed out) until he goes to sit back himself. Full and warm and just a little buzzed, he falls back into the plush couch.

He stiffens when he effectively rests his head on Fred’s arm. Again, a stillness falls over them. The blood is rushing so loud in his ears Jughead feels like he’s going deaf. There’s a dull thud as Fred sets aside the empty can of beer. His arm shifts, but rather than shaking Jughead off, it slips to bracket Jughead’s shoulders. To rest securely around him, and even pull him minutely closer.

Jughead sips his beer quicker. He can only stomach short bursts of the bitter drink but the desire to feel its effects is stronger than his distaste.

Once Jughead’s can is empty, Fred reaches over and plucks it away, sets it aside like he did his own.

Jughead lets himself melt into the couch and against Fred’s side. It’s so warm and soft and feels like everything Jughead has been aching for the past few years. Ever since his dad lost the house, ever since his mom walked out. Ever since Archie ditched him, and Jughead realized he was truly alone.

He doesn’t feel so alone now.

Jughead takes a deep breath—inhale—exhale—and then he shifts. He sits up straighter and rests his palm over Fred’s chest. Fred tenses under his touch but doesn’t move away. As Jughead twists to angle his body toward Fred, Fred never lets go of him. His arm stays curled around Jughead’s shoulders like he can’t bear to let go.

“Mr. Andrews,” Jughead murmurs, pleased when he finally gets Fred’s attention.

“Think you should call me Fred, Jughead.” Fred’s the one who’s red in the face this time and Jughead feels a sense of triumph.

“Fred,” Jughead breathes. His fingers tighten until he’s wrinkling the front of Fred’s shirt.

“Dinner was good.” It’s deflection, poorly-done. Fred’s voice is harsh and gives him away.

“Thank you again, for today,” Jughead says as he tries to get closer. He feels fractured inside, in a good way. Two sides of him aren’t at odds anymore. They aren’t at peace, either, but he doesn’t feel guilty when he’s pressed up along Fred’s side. He doesn’t feel like a no-good bottom feeder, scrounging up whatever charity he can. He likes giving Fred this, likes making Fred breathe a little quicker, likes knowing that this is how he can do his part.

“Jug, we shouldn’t.” There’s nearly a note of finality in his voice, but it doesn’t last.

Jughead leans forward and presses his face against Fred’s neck. “Please.” His words are muffled by Fred’s skin. “Please.” He says it again when Fred doesn’t move.

“Jug.”

Jughead whimpers and lets out a shaky breath—and that’s all it takes. Fred takes him by the arm and Jughead looks up. They freeze, face to face, until Jughead is sick of waiting. Sick of not knowing his proper place, desperate to fit himself into the puzzle the best way he can think of. He leans in and brushes his lips across Fred’s.

It’s a barely-there kiss, more like a touch of wind. It’s strong enough to break the dam on Fred’s self-control, though. That’s what Jughead wants, what he needs. He lets Fred pull him into his lap and lets Fred kiss him hard and messy on the lips. He lets Fred’s hands slip under his shirt and tease along the waistband of his jeans.

“Jug, Jug, tell me this is okay,” Fred begs quietly.

“It’s okay, Fred. So okay. Please, please, let me do this.” Jughead’s hands fall to Fred’s jeans and he’s as far as undoing the button before Fred tenses up again. Jughead bites down on his protests and waits it out.

“I want to watch you,” Fred says after a while. “Tonight, I don’t want to do too much. Will you let me watch you?” Fred’s gaze is heavy and imploring and Jughead nods.

“Of course, of course.” Just as quick, Jughead starts on his own jeans. He yanks off his belt and tosses it aside. The pants are big enough that he pushes them down with his boxers and his cock springs free. He grips the base of his dick and waits, breathes, tries to pull himself back from the edge of coming.

“Show me how you like it, Jug.”

Jughead’s eyes flutter and when he focuses his gaze again he realizes Fred is leisurely stroking himself. Fred’s eyes are wide and dart between Jughead’s face and his groin like he can’t decide which part is better, which part he wants to watch more.

Jughead shivers and pushes into the tight circle of his first. He smears precome, leaking from the head, across the palm of his hand to help the glide. He strokes slowly and pumps his hips just as casually. It’s dry enough that the friction keeps pushing him closer in startling bursts, but it’s really Fred’s gaze that turns him on the most.

“Are you a virgin?” Fred hisses as his hand picks up pace.

Obediently, despite there being no command, Jughead mimics the pace and shivers. He closes his eyes and imagines it’s Fred’s hand on him, calloused and heavy and so big. “Yeah,” he answers when he can string together words. “Yeah, I am.”

Fred’s free hand, once on his hip, slips around to cup Jughead’s ass. The denim still clings to the curve of his backside, but Fred’s touch feels like a brand.

“Would you give that to me?” Fred asks at the same time he squeezes one cheek.

Jughead yelps and it fades into a moan as he jerks himself off. He braces his unoccupied hand on Fred’s shoulder, uses it for leverage so he can push into his fist.

“Would you, Jughead?” Fred’s own words are labored and spaced apart awkwardly. “Take you out to a nice dinner. We can go a couple towns over, to the real big city.” Fred grins around his next moan and squeezes again, and again, like he can’t get enough of feeling Jughead’s ass in the palm of his hand. “Take you shopping and out to dinner, treat you like you deserve. Would you give it to me?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jughead keens. He strokes just under the crown of his cock and shudders. “I’m so close, please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, can I—?”

“You want permission?” Fred seems genuinely surprised, if pleased by the request. “Yes, Jughead, you can come. Do it, let me see you come, Jug.”

Jughead’s moan catches in his throat and he thrusts helplessly into his hand. He comes over his fingers and in streaks across Fred’s lap. He keeps moving and moaning until he’s so sensitive all he can do is whimper.

Gasping for air, Jughead forces his eyes open to watch as Fred tips over the edge. Jughead’s come slicks the way for Fred to stroke himself off faster, tighter, filling the living room with filthy wet sounds.

“Was I good?” Jughead asks as he leans in. He breathes the words into Fred’s mouth like a ghost of a kiss. “Did I do good?”

Fred nods and their dry lips catch against each other. “So good, Jug, so good.”

Jughead smiles. “Show me, show me how good I was. Show me how much you liked it, please.” Jughead kisses him short and quick so he can watch as Fred’s dick pulses with release. So he can watch come spill from the split across Fred’s fingers, mingling with Jughead’s own spunk. Fred’s hips jump and jostle Jughead in his lap as the aftershocks of orgasm ripple through him.

Jughead’s still panting by the time Fred comes down enough to grin lazily.

Fred tilts his head back expectantly, and Jughead leans in to kiss him. It’s deeper this time than the ones before. They open their mouths to each other and lick inside and Jughead lets Fred swallows his whimpers. They pull apart and come back again, over and over, until Jughead is almost half-hard again.

Fred grins, but when he shifts his expression does too—to disgust. He looks down at his lap where come is drying on his skin and jeans.

Jughead snorts and shrugs. “Oops?”

“Yeah, you really mean that,” Fred retorts.

“I could clean you up.” Jughead’s heart leaps in his throat as the words tumble out of their own volition.

Fred raises an eyebrow. “As much as I’d enjoy that, I distinctly recall saying we’ll take this slow.”

Jughead nods. It’s not so much that he doesn’t have a sassy comeback—he does, a million of them—it’s more that he’s fine with letting it go.

“We ought to go shower before Archie gets home. Separately.” Fred kisses the corner of Jughead’s pouting lips. “I’ll do the dishes, okay? Once I’m done.”

Jughead pulls his underwear and jeans up though they hang off his hips without his belt. He extends his clean hand to Fred and pulls the older man to stand. Fred doesn’t let go even after he’s on his own two feet, instead pulling Jughead toward the stairs. Warmth bleeds from where their fingers are linked straight to Jughead’s ribs, winding and weaving like vines.

At the top of the stairs, Fred stops. Jughead does, too, and waits. He pouts again when Fred lets their hands disconnect but perks up when Fred cups his chin instead, tilts his head up and pulls him in for a kiss. It’s hot and wet but short-lived.

“Go, shower.” Fred doesn’t wait for Jughead to comply, instead heading toward his own master bedroom and the attached bath. Eventually, Jughead gets his brain to cooperate with his feet, and makes it to the guest bathroom.

 

 

“Hey, man, you’re finally home.”

Archie nods, exhaustion clear in his features. “Yeah, sorry it’s so late.”

Jughead shrugs. “It’s fine. Your dad took me shopping. Did you eat dinner?”

“I grabbed Pops on the way home,” Archie’s expression is balanced between sheepishly apologetic and sleepily uncaring.

Jughead snickers. “I see how it is.”

Archie collapses onto his bed after stripping down to pajamas. His next works are muffled by the pillow, and it’s only because he’s got years of experiencing interpreting Archie’s mumbles that Jughead understands what’s said. “Did my dad let you have a beer tonight?”

Jughead warms. “Yeah.”

Archie barks out a laugh, also muffled. “That’s crazy. What was the occasion?”

“I think he just felt bad for me.” Jughead shrugs even though Archie probably doesn’t see it. “It was gross.”

“Yeah,” Archie says with a brief laugh. “Beer is super gross.” And like that, he’s out.

Jughead slips off his mattress after a little bit, feeling exposed in boxers and his too-big Pink Floyd shirt. He creeps from the room, to the hall, until he reaches the sliver of light coming from Fred’s room. He doesn’t knock, just pushes the door open enough to draw Fred’s attention.

Fred pats the bed beside him without really looking up from his book. In fact, he doesn’t dogear a page until Jughead is close against his side.

“What’s up?” Fred asks as he combs a hand through Jughead’s hair.

“We should talk about this, shouldn’t we?”

Fred sighs. “Yes, we should.”

Jughead looks at the firm line of Fred’s jaw. Then, he shrugs. “We don’t have to.”

Fred makes a curious sound.

“We should,” Jughead admits again, “but that doesn’t mean we have to.” Jughead rests his hand on Fred’s thigh. “I like this. I like—the way you treat me, and I like doing things for you. Like cooking. Like letting you watch.” Jughead wills his blush to dim. “That’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

“The age difference, this is totally inappropriate.” Fred speaks haltingly.

Jughead shrugs again. “I don’t care. We just… can’t tell people. Which is fine. It’ll just be between us.” Jughead grins, ducks his head until Fred leans in and peppers kisses across his cheek. “Besides, if we go far enough out of town, we won’t have to keep it to ourselves. Right?”

Fred doesn’t look like he totally believes him, but he still nods. “Right.”

“It’s settled, then. Wasn’t that easy?” Jughead leans in and Fred meets him halfway in a slow and tired kiss. “I should get back to the room.”

Fred nods. “You should.” He kisses Jughead again, then pulls away. “And you better do it soon before I find a reason to keep you in here any longer.”

Jughead’s body lights up in a blush. “Okay.” He nods and slips off the bed. “Good night, Fred.”

“Night, Jug. I’ll see you in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter three will be posted tuesday next week, unless something comes up. stay tuned!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, while editing the last two chapters (and looking at the stuff i planned to add as additional fics) i realized that it's disproportionate, so this may end up being a little longer, and there might be a slight delay in getting chapter 4 posted. i basically took what was chapter 3 and 4, smushed them together for this, and need to round out the end of chapter 4....
> 
> anywho! enough of my rambling. so glad everyone is enjoying it, and thank you all so much for commenting! it makes my day to see your feedback, i just hope i continue to please!!

Jughead rolls over the next morning feeling refreshed. He peeks and makes sure Archie is still asleep (soundly, like a log, like the dead) before getting out of bed. Quietly, he slips on a pair of pajama pants and then even softer he slips from the bedroom. He doesn’t pause at Fred’s door even though the urge is there. Instead, he takes the stairs as quick as he can and makes a beeline for the kitchen.

By the time Fred walks in, still bogged down with sleep, Jughead has a stack of pancakes ready and a pot of coffee steaming hot. There's an empty plate and a full-to-the-brim cup at the seat and Fred's eyes fall to the offerings.

“Jug?”

“Morning,” Jughead replies; he knows he’s being oddly chipper, but he can’t seem to help himself. With a quick glance around he presses a kiss to the corner of Fred’s mouth. His morning stubble scrapes across Jughead’s lips and wrings a sigh from him.

“You didn’t have to do this.” Even as he speaks Fred takes a seat at the dining table and starts to pile a few pancakes onto a plate.

“I wanted to,” Jughead retorts simply. “I woke up early. Seemed like a good idea.” Satisfied once Fred is eating, he turns his attention back to making more. “Not like it’s hard.”

Fred grunts around a mouthful of food and Jughead shakes his head fondly. Once he’s got enough pancakes cooked up to feed not only him and Fred but Archie too, Jughead finally makes himself a plate.

He takes the seat across from Fred. “Sleep well?” He reaches for the syrup as he asks, and Fred answers as he passes it over.

“Yeah, not bad.” Fred nods. “Look, Jughead, about last night…”

Jughead’s blood runs cold. He stops drowning his food in syrup and looks up uneasily. “What about it?”

“I don’t know…” Fred looks away and sighs. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Didn’t you like it, though? Didn’t I do well?”

Fred hurries to assure him. “Of course, Jug, of course you did. It’s not that. It’s just…” Resting his elbows on the table, Fred hides his face behind his hands. “I’m—I’m old enough to be your dad.”

“But you’re not my dad.”

“The point stands. Besides, I might as well be. I’ve changed your diapers for god’s sake.”

Jughead frowns. “That’s...” He trails off: it’s true, he can’t exactly dispute that, and he’s not sure what else to say. “Do you want to stop?” The words make him feel tight in his skin; they’ve hardly just begun, he’s finally found his place in the Andrews’ home, he doesn’t want that taken away.

“No, and that’s part of a problem. I shouldn’t want it in the first place.” Fred’s words are muffled since he’s still speaking into his hands. “It’s wrong, Jughead.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do,” Fred insists. He finally drops his hands from his face and laces them under his chin instead. He still won’t look at Jughead; instead his eyes are shut tight. “If this ever got out—Jughead you have no idea…”

“I do,” Jughead replies, sharp. “I’m not a child.”

That’s the wrong thing to say. Fred’s brow furrows and the laugh lines in his face pull into an angry frown. “You _are_. You’re barely sixteen, Jughead.” The words seem to physically fall upon Fred as he says them, because he slumps once they leave his mouth. He deflates with a heavy sigh.

Jughead ducks his head to hide his scowl, aiming it at his pancakes rather than Fred. He swallows while carefully considering his words.

“No one is going to find out.”

Fred laughs a bland, mirthless laugh. “You don’t know that.”

“I do, though. I’m not going to tell anyone. You’re not going to tell anyone.” Jughead feels an anger rise in his gut but tries to keep it at bay. Flying off the handle isn’t going to help his case. “I want this. I know that, I can make that decision for myself. I don’t need you telling me what I do or don’t want.”

Fred doesn’t seem taken aback by the words, only exhausted. “Jug.”

“Let me—I want this,” he says again. A crack in his voice gives away his desperation. “You want it, too. So why can’t we just… have it?” Jughead pushes his soggy pancakes around his plate and mourns the loss of his hunger.

Fred sighs.

“You’re saying all this because you think you have to,” Jughead accuses. He unashamedly lets the hurt bleed into his voice. “You don’t mean any of this, you just think you have to say this.”

“That’s not it, Jughead. I _do_ have to say this, because this is _wrong_.”

Jughead scowls again and pushes away from the table so hard their cups of coffee threaten to topple over. He barely spares a cautious glance around the room before walking around the table to Fred. Fred, who looks up at him tired and curious. Fred, who doesn’t stop Jughead from leaning down and kissing him softly on the lips.

Fred, who’s hands snap to Jughead’s hips like moths to flame, and clutch tight enough to bruise. Jughead keens and pushes forward, presses himself into Fred’s grip, and they kiss until their lungs burn.

“Jughead…”

“Tell me you don’t want that. Tell me you don’t, and I’ll let it go.” The words hurt to say, because Jughead isn’t so sure what he’ll do if Fred tells him that.

Fred’s eyes are closed and his lips are shiny with Jughead’s spit. His hands are still glued to Jughead’s waist and his thumbs move in slow, soothing circles around the jut of his hipbones.

“I want this,” Fred answers quietly after a long while.

Jughead beams. “That’s that, then.” He says with a finality similar to their conversation the night before.

Fred still looks conflicted, guilty, but he doesn’t push Jughead away or stop touching him. They stay like that until the top stair creaks—announcing Archie’s arrival. At the sound, Jughead steps out of Fred’s grip and busies himself with reheating some pancakes.

Archie stumbles into the kitchen blearily, and by the time he’s rubbed the sleep from his eyes Jughead is ready with a plate of food. Archie mumbles out a thanks and wanders to the living room.

Jughead looks over at Fred.

“Are we okay?” He asks, soft and a little scared.

The tone doesn’t go unnoticed by Fred. He stands and hurries over to Jughead. His hands come up like he wants to reach for him, but Fred doesn’t. He looks over to the living room, then back to Jughead.

“Yes, Jug, we’re fine.” When he smiles at Jughead, it’s not so tired anymore. It’s warmer, homely, settles the tidal waves crashing inside Jughead’s chest.

Jughead grins back. “Good.”

 

 

 

It’s not suddenly easy after that, as much as Jughead wishes it would be.

Like a switch has been flipped, Fred grows distant. Despite his reassurance to Jughead that morning, he doesn’t live up to it. If anyone is around, Fred will practically stay out of Jughead’s line of sight, let alone close enough to talk. If they _are_ alone, like on nights when practice runs late or Archie is otherwise occupied, Fred finds everything he can to keep himself away from Jughead.

It stings, even if Jughead understands.

He’s not ignorant; he _knows_ why Fred is worried. Why Fred is pulling away. That doesn’t make it any easier to stomach.

So rather than fight Fred on it, rather than chase after him and makes things worse—Jughead sets about proving himself.

 

 

“Jug, what’re you doing?”

He looks up from where he’s wiping down the bathroom counter. “Cleaning?”

Fred stands in the doorway looking perplexed. “Why?”

Jughead pins him with a curious look. “Why not?” He counters.

Fred opens his mouth but says nothing. His mouth closes with a snap and he walks away.

 

 

“Dude, are you planning on being a chef or something?” Archie’s words are nearly unintelligible since they’re said around a mouthful of food. Jughead just has a lot of practice translating the gibberish.

“No,” he replies smoothly. “Just a hobby.” He looks over at Fred, who’s eating silently. “It’s nice to be able to do something, to pay you guys back for everything back for what you’ve done for me.”

“Jug,” Archie pauses to swallow, “you know you don’t gotta pay us back. You’re family.” He looks over to Fred too. “You told him that, right? That he doesn’t have to pay us back?”

“Yes, Archie.” Fred’s reply is short, snappish. “He’s doing it because he wants to.” He speaks haltingly and Jughead wants to smirk.

“He’s right, Arch.” Jughead dogears another page in his cookbook--one he'd dug out of the hallway closet, probably Mary's back before she left. “Besides, if he kept trying to cook,” he gestures to Fred, “I don’t know how long you’d survive.”

Archie laughs so hard he chokes on his next bite of food; Fred even allows a small smile.

 

 

Fred stops in the hallway as Jughead approaches with a basket of laundry balanced on one hip.

“Jug.”

“Yeah?” His reply is deliberately absent. He ducks into the guest bath to grab some dirty towels.

“You.” Fred stops.

“I…?” Jughead prompts.

“I know what you’re trying to do.”

“I assumed you did. You’re smart, Fred.” Jughead readjusts the basket so it digs less into his side.

“Just because—you being a house-wife isn’t going to change anything.”

Jughead tilts his head. “I’m just doing my part.”

“Jughead.”

“Laundry isn’t gonna do itself!” He replies swiftly while side-stepping Fred.

 

 

It comes to a head on a weekend when Archie is gone all three days, on a football retreat. Or something. Honestly Jughead didn’t pay too much attention when Archie explained what it was, all Jughead cares about was the fact himself or Fred didn’t have to go.

 

Fred broaches the subject first. “We need to talk,” he says, like the first time. They’re both almost finished with dinner, and Jughead is just hoping this conversation doesn’t spoil his appetite for dessert.

“Okay.”

Fred sets his fork down. “Why are you still at this, Jug?”

“Because you want it, I want it.” Jughead shrugs. “I like helping out. I like helping _you_ out.” He gnaws on his lower lip before continuing. “I want to make you happy.”

“Jughead, I don’t—you don’t need to give me these kinds of things, to make me happy.”

“I want to, though.” Jughead stands and collects their plates. He sets them in the sink. “I like doing this. I really, really do.”

“We can’t.”

“No, we _shouldn’t_.” Jughead corrects him quick but gentle. “Big difference.”

Fred mumbles “not really,” but Jughead chooses to ignore it. Louder, Fred adds “I don’t want to make a mistake.”

“I don’t think it’s a mistake.”

“It could ruin your life. Both our lives.”

Jughead shrugs again. “Honestly? I don’t have much else going for me. I’ve got decent grades, one extracurricular, and you. And I’m happy with those.” He lets the dishes soak and then turns to face Fred.

“If it ever got out—?” Fred starts, sounding like a broken record.

“It won’t.”

Fred clearly wants to go through their whole conversation again but closes his mouth instead.

“You told me you want this,” Jughead begins. “Has that changed at all?”

Fred shakes his head.

“I want it, too. I don’t know what else to say. I’m not going to walk away from this.” Jughead leans against the counter. “I still don’t know what brought on your change of heart.”

“I spent that entire night wishing you were lying beside me, Jughead. That’s not…” Fred pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You’re scared.” The admission warms Jughead’s heart, spurs him on.

Fred scoffs. “ _Yes_ , Jughead. Of many things, in this case.” His hands drop into his lap. “I’m the adult, here. I should be the one to put a stop to this. To end this. To say _no_ , because you are _sixteen_ , good lord.”

“But you can’t. You can’t let go of this, any more than I can.”

Fred shakes his head again.

Jughead pushes off from the counter and heads straight to Fred. He stands between his legs and looks down. “Stop worrying so much. Let us have this.” He cups Fred’s jaw again. “You said we were fine. Let’s be fine.”

Fred eventually nods. He covers Jughead’s hands with his own. “Alright.”

“Not gonna freak out again, right?”

Fred nods. He's pink in the cheeks, he looks sheepish--still scared. But he's meeting Jughead's gaze and the faint curve of his smile is sure, certain.

“Good.” Jughead leans down and kisses him gently. “Now, I think we should take full advantage of this Archie-free weekend to share a bed.”

Alarm, irritation, and amusement flicker across Fred’s face in rapid succession. “You think so, huh?”

“To _sleep_. We have plenty of chances to fool around normally.” Jughead grins. “We never get chances like this.”

Fred considers his words. “You’re right.”

Jughead rolls his eyes.

 

 

That night, as they’re curled around each other in bed, Jughead is the first to speak. “When you said slow…”

Fred grunts. “I was nearly asleep,” he mumbles.

Jughead laughs. “I know.”

“I said slow, and I meant it.”

“But _how_ slow?” Jughead presses. He’s toeing a dangerous line, he knows. There’s a niggling sense of doubt in the back of his mind—a voice telling him that Fred could back out again at any moment. A voice that tells him if he pushes for too much, he’ll end up empty-handed.

“Slow.” Fred kisses the back of Jughead’s neck, which does absolutely nothing to curb the arousal pooling in his gut. It's warm and lazy and comfortable in bed, even if they're only half covered by the blankets. Not to mention, after so long without it, Jughead's nearly aching for the affection, the closeness. It took all his willpower not to broach the subject sooner, not to throw himself at Fred the moment the tension of his doubt dissipated. 

Jughead looks over his shoulder and glares. He keeps the expression firmly in place until Fred kisses him gently and palms the front of his boxers. Immediately, Jughead gasps into the kiss and startles as Fred’s hand lays over his half-hard cock. Fred grips him gently and despite the soft pressure Jughead feels perilously close to the edge already. 

“Could you come from this?” Fred breathes the words into Jughead’s mouth.

“Yeah,” Jughead replies as he ruts against the pressure. He blames the heat of Fred pressed against his back for how fast he’s toppling toward the edge. That, and his constantly electrified body, his age, how much he's missed this: all of which makes it too easy to be _that_ close to coming.

“Shouldn’t take long.” He opens his eyes enough to watch Fred watching him. “Then I can—!”

Fred shakes his head gently. “Not tonight.” He presses his hand harder against Jughead’s dick, rubs faster. “Come for me, Jug.”

Jughead doesn’t even care that his lover’s words are tinged with sleep. His mind is foggy with pleasure and his body obeys Fred’s command in an instant. Body going tense, he stains the front of his boxers with come, grinds against Fred’s hand until it’s nearly too much.

“Good?” Fred asks in a voice that’s grown more and more tired by the moment.

Jughead shifts, uncomfortable in his sticky underpants. He nods, but says “I need to go change.”

Fred waves him away. “I’ll be here,” he promises.

By the time Jughead gets back to the bedroom, clean boxers in place, Fred is sound asleep. He doesn’t even wake when Jug slides into bed, under the covers, getting as close as he can. Despite his quiet snoring, Jughead is able to fit snug against his side, and falls asleep just as easily. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!! long time no see!!! like i said on the kink meme, my real life got super crazy the last couple months. i'm so so so sorry about the delay!! long story short, my family and i ended up having to move out of our house in one week and that was beyond busy. plus lots of concerts and other stuff going on, i haven't had time to write anything.
> 
> however, the month of august is pretty much clear for me. just unpacking and unwinding, so hopefully i'll have another chapter posted within the next two weeks!
> 
> hope you like this one! it's a little filler-y, but adds a crucial 'sugar daddy' element to their relationship. comments and kudos are appreciated!! love you guys!

Jughead looks up from his cookbook when he hears the front door open.

Fred comes around the corner shortly after. “Hey,” he greets, voice level and neutral.

Jughead smirks. “Archie isn’t home.”

Like a dam breaking, Fred rushes Jughead and backs him against the counter. He kisses Jughead chaste on the lips, murmurs another “hello,” and then kisses him again.

“Not that,” a kiss, “I don’t enjoy this,” Jughead rests his hands on Fred’s shoulders. “But dinner is going to burn if you keep it up.”

Fred snickers and steps back. “Yes, dear.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “How was work?”

“It was work,” Fred says with a shrug. “School?”

“It was school,” he counters.

Fred snorts, the sound dulled as he reaches inside the fridge for a beer. “Brat,” he says as he stands up straight. As he cracks the can open with a _fizz_ , he also crowds Jughead against the counter.

“Hey, hey, watch it.” Despite his scolding, Jughead doesn’t push Fred away.

Fred hums happily. He lays one hand on Jughead’s hip, the other clutched around the beer, and he peppers sticky kisses across Jughead’s neck.

“You’re handsy tonight.” Jughead’s observation is plain, but his confusion is clear.

“It was a good day. Like having you to come home to.”

Jughead ‘ah’s quietly. “It’s been a while,” he agrees. Archie had gotten sick the week prior, which meant he was home _all the time_. “This is nice.”

Fred nods and his beard tickles Jughead’s skin. Letting dinner simmer on the pan, Jughead leans back against Fred and relaxes.

“This is nice,” he says again.

Fred nods, opens his mouth against the juncture of Jughead’s neck and shoulder to speak—but before he can the front door opens, bringing with it Archie’s footfalls.

Fred practically leaps away, and Jughead would’ve too if it wouldn’t have pushed him against the stove. He narrowly avoids knocking into the pan, and as Archie rounds the corner Jughead spares a thought for how it must look.

Archie pauses at the threshold, looks between Fred and his best friend, then seems to decide it’s not worth lingering on.

“You’re home early.” Jughead turns off the heat as he speaks, side-eyeing Archie.

In an odd version of déjà vu, Archie reaches into the fridge to grab a drink much like his dad had just moments before. Instead of a beer, Archie pulls out a sports drink. “Yeah.” His voice is muffled, too. “Something came up for Coach so he let us out early.”

Jughead watches out the corner of his eye as Fred takes a quiet leave.

“What’s up with dad?” Archie asks as he stands up straight. “Is everything okay?”

Jughead nods hurriedly. “He’s just tired, said he had a long day.” Rather than linger on it, Jughead continues. “Hey, can you grab the plates?”

 

 

 

“Dude?”

Jughead looks up from his textbook. “Yeah?”

“You know you don’t really have to earn your keep, right?”

Jughead narrows his eyes at his best friend, like the red head is a puzzle. “I know.”

“I just mean,” Archie shifts to sit proper on the ratty old recliner in the garage. “You cook, like, every night. And you do so much laundry, dude. You don’t have to do that.” Archie’s eyes are tight with genuine concern. It tugs at Jughead’s heart strings as much as it kind of irritates him.

“I know I don’t _have_ to. I like to. And you guys actually appreciate it, so, it’s worth doing.” Jughead tucks his worksheet into his book and sets the homework aside. “My dad was too drunk to ever care that I tried to keep the place clean, or keep JB out of trouble, or just make that stupid trailer a home. You know?”

Archie’s lips are parted in soft surprise. He nods.

“So you and your dad… you appreciate it, and you guys are both way busier than I am, so I’m happy to do it.” Jughead sighs and tilts his head back. He draws his legs to his chest, wraps his arms around his knees. “It’s weird.”

“No, no, no,” Archie assures as he slips off the recliner. “It’s not weird!”

Jughead shoots his best friend an unimpressed stare.

“I mean it, Jug. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t feel obligated. You’re family.”

Jughead smiles. “I know, Arch. I like doing it,” he says again.

 

 

 

“What’s this?” Jughead asks, eyebrow raised, as he holds the thin plastic rectangle between two fingers.

“It’s a credit card, Jug.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, I get that.” Jughead examines the name on the card. “Why is it… Is it for me?”

Fred pinks in the cheeks. “I thought you’d like it, for when you go out with the gang. You can shop and buy whatever you like.”

“Without you having to be there.” Jughead adds. “I don’t need this, Fred. You know that.”

“I want to.” Fred counters. “Just like you want to help around the house and—and help me out. I want to do this for you.”

Jughead stares at the plastic a few moments longer. “Okay.” He nods and pulls out his wallet to tuck the card away. “I’m not gonna go crazy, though. So, I dunno. Don’t expect much.”

“Whatever you want to use it for, Jug. That’s all I care about.”

 

 

 

Jughead stares at the set for a solid ten minutes before Archie finds him.

“Dude, woah. That’s a nice set.” Archie comments as he reaches out a hand to brush his fingertips along the spine. “You love this series, don’t you?”

Jughead just nods, mute.

“You should add it to your wishlist or something, I bet dad and I could pull it together for Christmas.”

Jughead’s neck burns. “It’s alright.” He says it as he reaches out and fumbles to get the thirteen book set into his arms. “I think I’m gonna treat myself,” he jokes with a knowing grin.

Archie snorts a laugh and doesn’t seem surprised as Jughead hobbles over to the counter. “You and your books, man.”

Jughead shrugs. As he takes the card from his wallet, he makes a point not to let Archie see the name on the card. “My dad gave me some cash. I think he felt bad, or something. Why not use it?”

Archie nods along. “Definitely. Need help? That looks heavy.”

 

 

 

“Oh, Jug, I didn’t know you were a Tom Ford kind of guy,” Veronica comments as she breezes by him in the store. He’s got one shirt held up to his chest, trying to get a feel for how it might look on him.

“I’m not, really.” Jughead catches sight of the price tag and reigns in a surprised gasp. Like a bullet wound, the card in his wallet seems to throb. A reminder, a _promise_ that he can have whatever he feels like, within reason.

“You should get it,” she adds as she walks by him again. She pauses long enough to pluck at one sleeve. “Cashmere.” Veronica hums the word like a song. “Very nice. You should definitely get it.”

Once she’s walked away, probably to find Betty or Kevin, Jughead tucks the shirt under his harm. No harm in trying it on, he figures.

 

 

 

 

Jughead’s stuff fills up Archie’s room faster than he means to let happen. At one point, it gets so bad that he comes home to Archie and Fred cleaning out what had previously been the guest room-slash-storage room.

“Archie,” Jughead starts as he tries to find a way to help. “I’m sorry.”

Archie shakes his head. “S’cool, man. It’s nice seeing you have stuff you like. I remember at your dad’s…” Archie trails off awkwardly. “It’s all good, dude. Let’s just get this cleaned out and we’ll start moving everything.”

 

The added benefit of having his own room is that Jughead doesn’t have to be quite as sneaky when he’s trying to slip into Fred’s room at night, unnoticed. There’s no air mattress to squeak as he moves and no creaky floorboards like the ones in Archie’s room to give him away. Even better, Jughead’s new room is closer to Fred’s than Archie’s, meaning less careful steps he has to take.

 

 

 

Jughead pauses in his sorting to look over at the door, where Fred stands.

“New stuff?” Fred asks while nodding at the shopping bags on Jughead’s bed.

He pinks. “Yeah, just some school stuff. Some books, and clothes.” He looks down at the bags and tries to will away the sense of guilt. “It’s not too much, right?”

Fred is by his side immediately. “No, Jug, no.” He wraps an arm across Jughead’s shoulders and pulls him close. “It’s great, I love seeing you happy.”

“I just feel like… it’s _so_ much.” Jughead gestures sheepishly to the bags of stuff.

Fred shrugs. “It’s fine, Jug. You don’t need to worry about it, okay?”

Jughead turns and presses himself into Fred. They’re toeing a line, since Archie is only in the garage, liable to come in the house at any moment. All the same, Jughead tucks his face against Fred’s stubbled neck and sighs. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“It’s not a competition.” Fred’s reply is amused.

Jughead shakes his head. “I mean—you’re doing a lot for me.”

“And you do a lot for me.”

Jughead looks up, pouting.

“How’s this,” Fred starts after considering his lover’s expression for a while. “Why don’t you use the card to get groceries now and then?”

Jughead nods along. “That’s… better.”

Fred doesn’t comment on the unspoken words (better, but not enough). He keeps talking instead. “You could always get stuff for Archie with it. Grab dinner when you guys go out, or get him a present or something.”

Jughead tilts his head side to side. “I kind of already do that, but he doesn’t let me a lot. You know how he is.” Jughead doesn’t bother hiding a smile that speaks, loud and clear, _like father like son._

The need Jughead exudes still lingers—something else to make the give-and-take more balanced, at least in his eyes. So Fred keeps talking, still.

“And,” he continues, like he never meant to pause. “Why don’t you buy some things to… show me.”

Jughead inhales sharply. “Yeah?”

Cheeks pink, Fred clears his throat. “Yeah. Anything you think I’ll like. You buy it, surprise me with it sometime, huh?”

Jughead grins. “Yeah, okay.” His grip tightens in Fred’s flannel shirt and he tugs the older man closer for another kiss. “Thank you.” He murmurs against Fred’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, for those who care--the bookset jug buys is the complete set of _series of unfortunate events_ bc i wrote that section shortly after buying it for myself haha


End file.
